Magic Dancer

I've spent every Friday and Saturday evening over the last three months sitting at a small table near the corner of the stage at the Magic Dancer Club. I have a few drinks and enjoy the show as the various ladies strut their stuff on the big stage. It's a very nice club if you happen to be into exotic dancing. It's an upscale club with an affluent white-collar clientele. The floor is covered with expensive deep-pile carpeting, except in the lobby, which has fancy marble flooring. The tables are fine oak with comfortable matching high-back chairs. The place reeks of money. Hell, a domestic draft beer served to your table by one of their sexy little bikini-clad cocktail waitresses will cost you six bucks plus tip.

The stage is a large curved four-foot high platform tastefully decorated with genuine-artificial plants, soft lighting, and red-velvet curtains with white-lace overlays.

The whole place has a quiet, relaxed atmosphere unlike any other club I have ever been in. Even the music the ladies dance to is soft; almost background music. You can actually carry on a conversation at the height of the show and not have to raise your voice to be heard above the music. But with those sexy ladies prancing around on the stage, who the hell would want to be talking? If any patron becomes a little too loud or does the unthinkable and makes an ill-mannered remark to one of the dancers, they are warned to control themselves, once. A rather large bouncer; or late-night host as Magic Dancer calls them, issues the second warning to them as he escorts the patron out the door. There is no such thing as a third warning. Actually, when you think about it, there is no second warning because you don't get that until you have already been escorted out the door, after paying your tab of course.

#

Three months ago I paid my first visit to the place with a wealthy client of mine. I didn't even know the place existed prior to that evening. My client said she liked the place and wanted to close our deal there over a few drinks. What could I do except join her? Hell, if she wanted to pay my company two-hundred thousand bucks to redesign her lingerie company's ad campaign, who was I to tell her I didn't like strip clubs?

We closed the deal over twelve-dollar a piece martinis in about an hour. My client had to leave shortly thereafter to catch a flight back to LA. I would have left with her, probably should have, but something on the stage had me riveted to the chair and kept me there for another three hours.

That something was a majestic lady by the name of Megan Devall. She was on stage as my client departed. Megan did a six-minute dance routine once each hour from 9:00 p.m. until 1:00 a.m. I stayed to watch them all.

I could not have cared less about the other nine exotic dancers performing that evening. Don't get me wrong; they were all nice looking gals and did some pretty sexy routines, but Megan had moves the others could only dream of.

Her moves were not all she had going for her. She was absolutely the most gorgeous woman I had even seen. She had a long sensuous body with curves enough to tempt a preacher from behind his pulpit. When Megan danced her long slender arms and legs flowed like long silk drapes on a gentle breeze. She was the perfection of motion.

Each of her four routines was different. Her final number for the evening was and still is my personal favorite. I've never been able to determine if it was the way she danced to that particular music, or if it was the outfit she was wearing. I guess it really doesn't matter because I've seen her perform that number at least a dozen times now and whatever it is about it still sets my heart ablaze every time. On nights Megan dances that routine, she usually saves it for last because she knows it sends the patrons out the door wanting more.

As soon as her music for the routine starts, the entire club becomes quieter than a mute-librarians' convention. When the first note of Santino and Johnny's "Sleep Walk" is struck, all eyes are riveted on the stage and Megan's gorgeous body, as she performs a dance worthy of jealousy from a prima ballerina with the Metropolitan Ballet Company.

The outfit Megan wears for her "Sleep Walk" routine is the real turn-on. Her well-tanned flawless skin makes her white-lace bra and panties almost glow. To these, she adds a white-lace garter and white nylons with a feather-pattern lace up the sides, reminiscent of a white peacock. She does this dance on white, four-inch spike heels. Now add to all this her waist-length nearly white, blonde hair and you'll have a fair picture of what I consider to be the most luscious hunk of femme fatale ever to grace this fine planet of ours.

#

I was at my usual table last Friday evening drooling over the beautiful Megan as she gave an unusually superb performance of the "Sleep Walk" dance. After her number ended all the patrons were preparing to leave. It takes them several minutes to get themselves together enough to leave after Megan's finale; seems they always have rather protruding lumps in their trousers when she dances. I remained seated, mesmerized as always, to watch her until she would finally disappear behind the plush red-velvet curtains. I didn't want to miss a single step that woman took, on or off the stage.

Friday night, she didn't disappear as usual. She stood peeking around the edge of the curtain watching everyone leave. I was the only non-employee in the Magic Dancer at the moment, but that was about to change. Godzilla, the late-night host, was on his way toward me to escort me from the premises.

Megan stepped out from behind the curtain. "She's okay, Jake. She's with me."

"Sorry, Megan. I didn't know," the monster replied, returning to his other closing-time duties.

I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say to the most exquisite creature on Earth when she approached my table. Only thing I could think of was, "Thank you." Now, I'm sure that must have sounded really eloquent.

"No problem. I wanted a chance to talk to you," she said in a voice so sexy it nearly melted the elastic off my panties.

"Me?" I tried to say without stumbling over the one word. I wasn't very successful. Besides, sitting there with my mouth hanging wide open was probably a dead giveaway. I guess the sight of her standing right beside me, in her sexy white-lace lingerie had me all flustered.

"Yes, you," she replied. "I've been seeing you here almost every weekend for the last couple months."

"Ah, no Ma'am. That's every weekend. I wouldn't miss one of your shows," I managed to get out. "I've seen you perform all four of your shows twenty-six times so far."

"My shows? What about the other girls," she smiled.

"Not to sound rude, but I only come to see you dance," I replied.

"Why, thank you; I'm honored," she purred. "May I sit down?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, please do." I nearly fell over trying to pull a chair out from under the table for her.

"Let me grab my robe. I'll be right back," she said turning toward the backstage ramp. "Now don't you leave before I get back."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I replied. Hell, Godzilla, and all his cohorts couldn't have dragged me outta there right then.

A minute later Megan returned wearing a short white-silk kimono with a curving silver dragon embroidered over each breast. She let it hang open when she sat down next to me. I could see, among other things, conversation on my part was going to be difficult at best.

"Ah, can I buy you a drink?" I asked. That's the normal line in places like that and the only thing I could think of to say at the moment.

"No thank you. I don't accept drinks from customers. They sometimes get the idea you owe them something if you do," she explained. "But I'd love to buy you one."

"Sure, if you think the walkin'-talkin' bulldozer over there will let me stay long enough," I replied tossing a glance in the late-night host's direction.

"It's okay as long as you're with one of us. Hold on a second. Hey, Jake, would you mind asking Connie to make me a drink and one for my friend?" she called out.

"Sure thing, Ma'am," the huge man replied with a big grin.

Moments later, he personally delivered the drinks to us. "Here ya go, ladies," he said, placing them in front of us. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks, Jake," Megan said watching the big man amble away. "Here's to body language," she toasted, holding her glass up and looking into my eyes.

"Absolutely," I agreed, even though I had no idea what she was talking about. I noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding ring when she raised her glass. Funny, that was the first time I'd thought about the possibility of her being married. The idea of actually talking with her and getting to know such a classy lady had been too far fetched for me to ever consider before.

"I like yours," she said.

"My what?" I asked. Damn, I hate being so far behind in a conversation, but I hadn't a clue what she was talking about.

"Your body language," she replied.

"Huh?" I asked, beginning to feel a bit ridiculous. I mean, there I was, talking to the woman of my every dream and I was so befuddled I couldn't even keep up with the conversation.

"Your body language. I've been watching you squirm around in your chair two nights a week for three months. Now that's some powerful body language, if you ask me," she smiled. "Just watching you wiggling around has been turning me on for weeks."

I almost fell off my chair laughing. I had difficulty getting my breath back. "I can't believe this," I said through my tears of laughter.

"Why do you find it so humorous?" she said with a surprised look. "I didn't mean for it to be funny."

"No, it's not funny. I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at myself," I apologized. "I've been coming here every night you dance because I think you're the sexiest creature ever put on this planet and you say I've been turning you on?"

"Well, yeah," she smiled. "I've been trying to build up enough nerve to come over here and talk to you for weeks."

"Wait a second. I think we need to start this conversation over. Apparently I've missed a major portion of it, or is this the part where I wake up and find it was all just a dream?" I said, holding my hands out toward her and shaking my head from side to side. "Why would you be turned on by me? You have dozens of rich handsome men in this place every week ready to cream their Dockers over you. You could have your choice of any one of them in a heartbeat."

"Exactly, and that's why I never date any of them or any other men for that matter. They're all in lust, not in love," she said with a look of disgust.

"You're gay?" I asked in surprise.

"Let's just say I prefer the gentle touch of a pretty lady to the groping of a man," she replied.

"This just keeps getting better," I smiled. "Then I guess you assume I'm a lesbian too?"

"The way you watch me dance and the way you keep staring at my breasts right now, tells me you are," she grinned. "Either that, or you're at least a switch hitter."

"Well, I'm not a switch hitter, if that answers your question," I grinned. "And as much as I hate to say this, if you'd close your kimono up a bit, it would make it a lot easier for me to hold a conversation."

"Oh," she said, pulling the robe around her waist and tying it off. "Do you find something distracting about my chest?"

"Yeah, I can't keep my eyes off of it and it makes it difficult, if not impossible to keep my mind on anything else," I replied, sliding my tongue across my upper lip.

"Damn girl, don't do that. You're giving me cold chills," she said, cupping her hands together under her chin and faking a little shiver.

I just smiled at her and slid my tongue back in the other direction across my lip.

"What say we get out of here?" she suggested.

"Sounds great," I replied, astonished, not believing I was actually about to walk out of the Magic Dancer with the gorgeous Megan Devall on my arm.

"Wait here while I get dressed. Then we can go to my place and I'll do my special private "Sleep Walk" performance for you," she said standing up to leave.

"A special private "Sleep Walk" performance?" I asked. "How'd you know that was my favorite?"

"Easy, you squirm a lot more when I'm doing that routine. I'll bet your panties are soaked by the end of that dance," she grinned before going out of sight up the backstage ramp.

I sat there red faced. I had no idea I'd been so obvious about what her dancing did to me. I tried to imagine what her private "Sleep Walk" performance would be like. I was glad she wasn't there to see the squirming that little mind game caused.

A few minutes later, Megan came out a side door, dressed in a somewhat-conservative white sundress. "You like? Not what you thought I'd be wearing, is it?" she grinned.

"Yes, I like it, and no, it isn't exactly what I had expected," I replied.

"Just think about this until we get to my place; under this little dress, I'm wearing your lacy lingerie," she whispered.

I pulled the top of my blouse out and peeked down inside. "Nope, can't be, I still have mine on," I joked.

"How often do you give these private performances," I asked. "I'm sorry. Don't answer. That's none of my business. I was just curious."

"That's okay. I understand," she smiled down at me. "Including the performance I'm going to do for you tonight; let me see; that'll be a grand total of… one."

"You haven't done it for anyone else?" I asked in surprise.

"I'm particular about who I do private performances for. Besides, I wanna watch you squirm some more. And believe me, by the time I'm done dancing for you tonight, I intend to have you squirming around like a drop of water on a red-hot griddle."

I did an imitation of her little fake cold-chill shiver. "I can't wait. Maybe I'll make you do a little squirming too."

"I can't wait either," she said, taking me by the hand and leading me out the front door.

#

It took twenty minutes to get to Megan's house on the outskirts of town. I was a bit surprised, to say the least, when I saw her beautiful home sitting back off the road. It was a large place in the middle of ten wooded acres.

"Wow! I knew exotic dancers got paid some pretty good money," I remarked, "but I didn't know they made this much!"

She gave me a small laugh. "I don't get paid anything for my dancing; I own Magic Dancer."

"Oh, I had no idea," I replied. "Then why do you keep dancing there?"

"Well, two reasons, I guess. The customers seem to enjoy my dancing, but…" she said.

"You got my vote on that," I interrupted.

"But mostly because I enjoy it," she added. "I get a real charge outta knowing I can still turn the guys on just by getting up there and strutting my stuff," she grinned.

"You're so wicked," I giggled.

"Not really. The way I see it, I'm still young; twenty-seven isn't a bad age to be and already own one of the nicer clubs in town. I still have a fairly decent body. The guys seem to enjoy my routines and it also means I don't have to pay another dancer to take my place on the stage. The dancing helps to keep me in good physical shape. Another thing, exotic dancing is quickly becoming a lost art. Sure, there's a lot of gals out there shaking their cute little asses and boobs in everybody's face, but they're not really dancers, they're strippers. That's a completely different animal. I feel I'm doing my little part to preserve a dying art form," she explained. "Besides, I love to watch those horny old bastards sitting out there with their hands in their laps and their wallets on the table, drooling over something they know good and well they can't have."

"I told you you're wicked," I giggled. "But does that include someone like me?"

"Like you, yes, but you, no. Sweet thing, you haven't seen wicked yet," she said with her melt-my-panties voice. "Come on, let's go inside. I wanna give you the grand tour of my humble little abode."

I followed Megan inside. The front room was a breathtaking experience in itself. It was a large room with a hardwood floor shiny enough to almost be used as a mirror. There was a big fireplace fronted by a nice sofa and chair arrangement and a baby grand piano off to one side.

"This place is huge," I remarked.

"Yeah, it's way too big for me. I keep most of the house closed down because I don't need all that space and I damn sure don't wanna be trying to keep it all clean," she replied. "It's some kind of tax thingy my accountant insists on; some sort of tax shelter. I don't understand all that stuff, so I listen to her and do what she suggests. Let me take you out back and show you my pride and joy of the whole place. It's the room I spend most of my off time in, other than my bedroom of course."

We went out of the living room, into a gorgeous dining room, and through a gourmet kitchen, to die for. From the kitchen we entered a short hallway which ended in a small room lined with clothes racks and little cubbyholes like small lockers. It looked like a small locker room in a gym. To the left was a door marked "SAUNA," to the right was another marked "SHOWERS." The door straight across from the hallway was an open archway with a sign over it reading, "PARADISE."

The archway opened on to a spiral staircase leading down into the basement. The basement was the most fascinating place I had ever seen inside someone's home. Its decor was like a Pacific Island, complete with two large wooden totems standing guard at the base of the stairs.

Three-quarters of the immense room was occupied by a sparkling-clear swimming pool. It ran from wall to wall on the sides. The only way into or out of the pool was from where we stood near the front of the huge room. The back of the pool was perhaps three feet from the back wall of the room. In each rear corner stood a large waterfall-like fountain sparsely surrounded by live palm trees and other exotic plants, along a small sandy beach. The entire ceiling was dotted with sunlamps suspended between the florescent lighting.

"This is where I come to keep my tan nice and even," Megan smiled. "I do a lot of nude sunbathing down here, at any hour of the day or night."

"Sounds like fun," I replied. "Maybe I could join you for some fun in the sun sometime."

"Anytime you want, Sweetness," she purred.

Megan flipped a switch in a small control panel in the front wall; water began tumbling over the waterfalls. After clicking several more switches, the sunlamps, along with most of the florescent lights went out. The few lights that remained on were low-intensity lights giving the whole scene the appearance of a moonlit island night. Another clicked switch filled the room with the melodic night sounds of frogs and crickets. It was simply breathtaking.

The front portion of the room was setup like a lounge on an island beachfront. It had a bamboo bar and stools. There were four small rattan tables with matching wingback chairs scattered about the bar area. Yes, I could easily see why Megan called this room Paradise.

I stepped to the edge of the pool for a better look. Megan gave me a little shove. I toppled over into the pool, shoes and all. Thank goodness I had left my purse upstairs. I must have created a huge splash because I landed flat on my back.

"Megan!" I screamed when I came up. "Why did you do that?"

"I don't know. It just seemed like the thing to do at the moment," she giggled. Kicking off her shoes, she jumped in the pool with me. It was sexy as hell the way her sundress floated up around her waist.

"Well, I guess you're gonna have to stay all night now so we can get your clothes dried out," she purred, sliding her arms around my neck.